Next time, it will be together
by Elie.N.P
Summary: She screamed. He hadn't jumped, had he? No, it couldn't be possible, he couldn't have done that! He wasn't so stupid! Besides, he couldn't really love her, could he? Draco/Hermione one-shot AU  post-war


**This is a Draco/Hermione one-shot. It's AU and the characters are certainly OOC (I prefer to warn everybody at the beginning, so you won't be disappointed)**

**There is no lemon. You can imagine that it takes place after the war, and that all the students have come back for their last year at Hogwarts.**

**Be indulgent, I'm not a native English speaker, but I try to do my best. **

**I hope you'll like it. Enjoy your reading! (and don't forget that a review always makes an author smile =D )**

**Elie**

* * *

><p><span>Next time, it will be together<span>

She screamed. He hadn't jumped, had he? No, it couldn't be possible, he couldn't have done that! He wasn't so stupid! He wouldn't jump to prove his affection, his false affection, because he couldn't really love her, could he?

How could he love her when he spent his time calling her names and making fun of her? That attitude definitely couldn't be defined as love! Well, Hermione had to admit they hadn't seriously quarrelled for months, for he'd, little by little, stopped to spit hurtful words each time he crossed her path, but that didn't plausibly justify his behaviour! That couldn't possibly mean more than his having grown tired of being such a stupid brat.

She hurried to the edge of the cliff, praying – praying who? She didn't know, she instinctively did it.

She needed to think of a spell and quick, she had to find a way to... To what? To go back in time? To go back to several seconds ago? Minutes even because it'd been when she should have watched her words, her reactions more carefully. But how could she have known he was serious? He couldn't be serious!

He had a broom hidden somewhere, a spell cast on him, invisible wings stuck to his back – at this point she could envisage anything which would have him still alive.

Her fear of heights didn't matter any more as she bent over the edge.

His face, she needed to see his face, pale – for it was always thus – but nevertheless full of life. He couldn't be dead. That was impossible. Why would a pure-blood die for a muggle-born? Something was wrong. A joke! It had to be a bad joke! She could think of – hope for – nothing else as her eyes were frantically searching for a sign of him. He had to be alive, he had or else...

She clenched her fists. If only she could fly... She looked around, there, his broom was laying on the grass. She glanced again over the edge, nobody, nothing encouraging. Her features were now tensed by terror.

She turned to the broom and resolutely walked to it. She hated flying, it was a certainty, but what she'd hate more was knowing he died because she hadn't done her best to save him.

She jumped on his broom, then immediately kicked off.

He was alive. It couldn't be otherwise. There had to be something he had got hold of, somewhere he had crawled in, a hole, a fissure, anything for him to still be alive.

He was only playing with her nerves. Nothing less, nothing more. A joke, only a joke... She tightened her grip around the broomstick, her knuckles turned white.

Somewhere, he had to be somewhere.

She flew closer to wherever she thought a hiding place could be concealed, even if it seemed too narrow to contain a human of his age, she knew better than to underestimate him. He might have thought of something to decrease his height, perhaps he had transformed into something else, a rabbit, a ferret, a mouse...

A small smile crept onto her lips. As worried as she was, it was relieving to still be able to have those futile thoughts, those pictures of him transformed into tiny creatures – even though he certainly wouldn't appreciate it. And yet, she would cherish those thoughts, because she wouldn't be able to have them if he was dead. Her mind was agreeing with the wishes of her heart.

Draco wasn't dead. Period.

Suddenly, something bright caught her attention. His hair! That could be his hair!

She led the broom as close to the rock face as she could. Not once had she glanced downwards, if she'd done it she'd have fallen.

And Hermione didn't want to fall, not in the least.

She stretched her hand to the hole, hoping she'd touch him, hoping it was him and not some stupid magical creatures – right now she deemed everything related to magic stupid because ridiculously dangerous.

If magic didn't exist, she wouldn't know him, if she didn't know him she wouldn't be in such a torment. She wouldn't have had to face him and his childish ultimatum! He had cornered her with the lamest threat which could exist.

If she didn't accept his love was true, he'd jump from the cliff. He'd jump to prove his sincerity. He cared enough for her to put his life on the line.

"I don't care if you are a muggle-born, I don't care about the past, only the present. I love you now. What I felt before doesn't matter any more. I don't care and you shouldn't either."

He'd jump because he'd decided he wouldn't live without her trusting him.

She had doubted, he had jumped.

She was still doubting the sincerity of his feelings, but was certain she didn't want him dead. She had never wished him to be dead. She wished he hadn't been as stupid as to carry out his threat!

What a stupid arrogant ferret!

She was angry now. If he wasn't dead yet, she'd kill him herself.

"Draco," she whispered – what if she'd seen the fur of a dangerous creature instead of the brightness of his hair? "Draco please, tell me it's you."

She hated how weak she sounded. She wanted to be strong, above all in front of him, but in spite of her anger, worry was definitely her dominant feeling.

"Draco," she murmured again. "Please answer!"

There was a move inside the hole, it made her heart swell with hope. It had to be him! It had-

She screamed. The broom had abruptly went down. Weight had suddenly been added to it, behind her to be exact.

Hermione tried to steady it, but she wasn't used to flying, much less when they were two! She couldn't control the evil thing any more.

All she could do was screaming, and praying for a miracle.

"I prefer a different kind of screams."

Hermione craned her neck backwards.

The broom failed to collide with the rock face by a second. If Draco hadn't thought about jerking it upwards, they'd be both falling to their death.

"What the hell are you doing there?" she screamed, her voice too high-pitched to her liking.

There he was, Draco Malfoy, calmly seated behind her, smiling – no _smirking_ at her, as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn't seen him jump from a cliff several seconds ago.

One hand holding the broomstick, the other on her waist, he looked awfully proud of himself, awfully proud to have made her worry.

Could she have moved – had she not been paralysed by fear and shock – she'd have thrown him in the emptiness or slapped him – in fact there were a lot of attractive possibilities.

"Bastard," she murmured. "How..."

She didn't finish her sentence. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. She wasn't certain of anything right now. He was alive. Alive and smirking, alive and behind her, touching her. He was there, and her heart was pounding with relief.

Draco pulled her closer to him, winding his arm around her waist.

"Do you regret rejecting me?" he whispered in her ear.

She elbowed him, hard, but didn't do anything else to free herself from his embrace. It was good to have him so close, to feel his breath on her skin, his chest against her back.

"Bastard," she repeated even though she didn't have the strength to sound angry.

She was on the verge of tears. He was alive. Her stupid arrogant ferret was alive.

She lowered her head, then her hair framed her face, concealing it from Draco's sight. She didn't want him to know how scared, how terrorised not to know what had happened to him had made her. She didn't want him to know how affected she'd been by his selfish move.

Draco wasn't a fool. He tightened his hold around her.

"I'm sorry," she tensed, had she heard right? "I'm sorry," Draco said again against her neck. "I shouldn't have jumped, it was cruel, and I don't want to be cruel with you, not any more."

Without knowing it, Hermione started to caress his bare arm.

"I had another broom waiting for me," he explained.

"Bastard."

He smiled. "I don't really like that name you know."

"But it's what you are," Hermione retorted. "You say you love me, and yet you make me go through this. You're a bastard."

He shrugged. "I can't deny it, but now I know what you feel for me."

Hermione suddenly shifted to look at him. "What?"

Draco flashed her a wide grin. "I know what you feel for me. I know that you love me."

Her eyes widened. "You're crazy."

"Yes, and you're why I'm crazy," he answered with seriousness.

"Draco," Hermione began, "I'm sorry but I don't love you."

The words sounded wrong, but they were nevertheless true. She didn't love him... not yet.

"Let me rephrase, you will love me-"

"Draco-"

"Let me finish," he scolded. "You will love me because you have feelings for me, if you didn't feel anything you wouldn't have been so desperate to find me."

"I wasn't-"

"You were about to have a heart attack," he pointed out.

Hermione frowned, opened her mouth, then closed it. He was right, and it annoyed her greatly. Perhaps a heart attack was a bit too much, but it was still close to the truth for her heart, after she had seen him jump, had stopped beating normally.

"I hate heights," she tried as a lame explanation.

Draco laughed. "You hate heights and yet you didn't hesitate to fly after me."

She turned her head, preventing him from seeing her reddened cheeks. It only made him laugh harder.

"It's cute."

"Cute?" she felt offended now.

He moved her hair over her shoulder and slowly covered her back with sweet kisses.

"Yes, your fear is cute, your care pleasant, and you beautiful."

She tensed. What was happening? Who had taken control of Draco Malfoy? Was it really his being behind her?

She glanced at him over her shoulder. He smirked. He could easily read her mind. He knew her thoughts and was amused. Amused and proud, proud because Hermione Granger was facing a problem she didn't seem able to resolve, a problem she couldn't get rid of quickly, something which would keep her attention for a long time, and as long as he was that problem, he wouldn't stop being proud of himself. If she couldn't stop thinking of him, he wouldn't leave her mind. If he didn't leave her mind, she wouldn't forget him. If she didn't forget him, she'd grow fond of him. He was certain. Something was possible between the two of them. Hate and love, the border was thin, easily crossed, partially crossed, on his side, soon to be crossed, on hers.

He'd make her fall in love with him, while he'd also fall in love with her. He didn't love her yet, not really, but his feelings were too strong to be ignored. He didn't hate her, he didn't like her, didn't love her yet, he was between like and love, closer to love, far away from hatred.

To jump from the cliff had been a stupid bet. He could have failed to land on his broom and fallen straight to the ground. She could have not cared at all and turned her back to the emptiness. She could have hurt herself. She could have fallen. He could have made them fall when he'd jumped behind her.

There were a lot of risks he had taken carrying out his threat. It had been a selfish move which, when he felt her against him, he had no regret to have done.

"Pull yourself together Draco, you're strange," Hermione weakly said.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do I sound strange?"

"Can we land somewhere?"

Draco raised an eyebrow but didn't make any comment about the sudden change of subject.

"You just have to ask."

Once their feet touched the ground again, they both let go of the broom, but not of each other. His arm was still around her waist while her hand still caressed his skin.

They seemed unable to separate.

"You're strange," Hermione repeated. "And I'm not better."

She turned to face him. "I'm lost," she admitted. "I was scared, _you_ scared me. I didn't, and still don't, want you dead, but I know I don't love you."

He lightly brushed her cheeks with his fingertips. "I know."

"Then why did you act like that?" she asked, truly confused. "If you knew I didn't love you, why did you jump?"

"You don't love me yet," he explained. "And I don't love you yet either. I know I said it," he quickly added before she could say anything, "but it's not that love, not yet."

He pulled her closer to him, she instinctively wound her arms around his neck.

"I wouldn't be pleased to love you now, that would be strange. But I want to love you. I know I do. Because I can't say I hate you, that would be a lie, and to say I like you isn't strong enough. I'm lost Granger, as lost as you. I'm stupid too. Stupid to be attracted to somebody like you, somebody unlikely to ever have feelings for me. But I can't help it. I hated you, a childish hatred without valuable reasons, a hatred led by my father's beliefs, a hatred fated to disappear."

He suddenly kissed her nose. "I never hated you for yourself Granger, but for what you represented to my father. I'm sorry I was stupid enough to blindly follow him."

"Draco, you do realise nothing you're saying makes sense, don't you?" Hermione asked. "Are you sick?"

She raised her hand to his forehead, but the smile on her lips told him she had found some sense to his nonsense.

"Yes, I am," he replied then brought her hand to his lips. "And there is no medicine to cure me."

"That's sad," she pointed out. "Do you know what is your sickness?"

He nodded. "Some people call it adolescence, some stupidity, others call it illusion, I prefer to call it the beginning of love."

"A beginning, then what comes after?"

He smiled against her knuckles. "I don't know yet. This is something I want to discover though, but not alone. It wouldn't be fun."

"Fun?" she repeated. "You think love is fun?"

"Isn't it? What do you think about it?"

Hermione thought several seconds. "Scary, painful," she trailed off. "I've never really thought much about it."

Draco shrugged. "I don't deny that. I can't swear we won't ever be hurt. I can't swear it won't ever be painful. But what I can tell is that we will never know if we don't give it a chance."

"Why do you want to give it a chance? You don't love me yet, I don't love you yet either. You could have ignored your feelings, school will soon be over, and neither of us would have taken the risk to be hurt, then why?" Hermione was curious, curious and pleased.

If it was with him, the idea of being in love didn't seem as unattractive as it had always seemed to her. To be in love with Draco Malfoy, shivers ran down her spine, if the sole idea of it was having such effects on her, she couldn't wait to experience what making it become true would be like.

Draco kissed her cheeks, his lips lingering on her skin, gently brushing it.

"You know why Granger. I can live with mistakes, with suffering, but not with regrets," he huskily murmured. "It's a risk. A risk I want to take."

"Like to jump from a cliff?" she teased.

He nodded. "Yes. Honestly, if I haven't jumped, would you have envisaged the idea of being with me? Would you have admitted you could have feelings for me?"

Hermione shook her head. "Probably not," she admitted.

Her hand slid to the buttons of his shirt, slowly she started to play with the first one. Would it be too bold of her? She bit her lower lip. She couldn't deny she needed to touch more of him. He was alive, talking to her, but she needed more. The fear, no, the terror she'd felt was still lingering in her, preventing her from being totally at-ease.

She kept seeing him jump, again and again, his jumping with such determined eyes, his lips firmly set in a thin line. He had bet, but it had been more than a mere game. The result of it had been meant to change his life, to include her in it or not.

They weren't in love yet, but the feelings they shared were too strong to be ignored. Could they be explained? No. Hermione was certain nobody would understand their sudden relationship. She wouldn't even try to lighten their minds for it was impossible to describe what she was feeling.

Intangible, invisible, it was something only the two of them could see, feel.

To accept or to deny it was a choice which only belonged to them.

She tugged at the annoying button. She wanted to rip it off.

Draco gently nibbled her ear. "Do what you want," he seductively murmured, not bothering to hide the want in his voice.

Although love wasn't here yet, did they have to hold back? Her common sense was ordering her to walk away, her heart told her to yield. She was eighteen, wasn't she? Old enough to know what she wanted, old enough to decide if it would be right or wrong... In fact she didn't care about what was right or what was wrong. The only thing which mattered at that time was his body pressed against hers, his hot breath on her skin, his nibbling her ear, his lips caressing her face, she tugged harder on the button.

To hell the common sense! She wanted that man, she had nearly seen him die, and now she wanted him, she craved to feel him alive, to feel alive with him.

The button yielded to her attacks, revealing the top of his pale chest. Draco laughed.

"Somebody seems to be in a hurry."

Hermione raised her head to meet his eyes, then lowered it back to his chest. He wanted it as much as her. It was all she needed to totally forget her reserve.

She quickly unbuttoned his shirt, then made it slide from his shoulders to the ground. He did nothing to stop her.

"Like what you see?"

Rather than words, Hermione let her actions answer for her. She leant forwards and softly kissed his chest. Draco shuddered. Her hands caressed his shoulders, his arms, they brushed his chest, then down to his abs.

She was mesmerised by his body.

"Perhaps," she lied.

Draco frowned. "Perhaps? What's that answer?" He roughly grabbed her bottom. "I don't like that answer."

She couldn't hold back a moan. "What do you want to hear?" she asked in a breath.

He trailed kisses along her face, from her temple down to her jaw, then kissed the corner of her lips.

"Can't you guess?" he purred.

"Perhaps," she smirked.

He squeezed her bottom, earning another moan from her. "I don't like that word," he jokingly growled.

"What else can I say?" Hermione seductively murmured.

"Can't you guess?" he chuckled.

Her hands tentatively caressed his hips, then slid to his bottom which she shyly squeezed. It was new for her. She had never touched a man thus, never gone farther than the kiss she'd shared with Ron during the war, a kiss with no meaning, a kiss between two beings who loved each other like siblings, not like lovers.

Farther than a kiss, she felt Draco was the man she could, would cross the line with. By the way, she couldn't keep her hands to herself.

It was something nobody would have ever thought her able to do, to abandon herself to her childish foe, to want him so badly, to be ready to cross the line with him when they were both aware that love wasn't born yet.

She was stupid, as stupid as him, and the worst part was she didn't care at all.

He was nibbling her neck, marking her as his. She slid a leg between his, rubbing it slightly against the obvious expression of his desire.

"Perhaps I can," she murmured. "No more jump from a cliff?" she added, her voice muffled by the skin of his neck.

In spite of her light tone, Draco caught the seriousness of her words. She needed to be reassured.

He then kissed her fully on the lips. Passionate and gentle, clumsy and sincere. He poured all his feelings in this exchange, their first real one, hoping it would convince her of his sincerity better than any words he could have uttered.

Hermione tangled her fingers in his silky hair. She went on the tip of her toes to deepen the kiss, at the same time granting him the access so much desired.

Their tongues soon ceased to be shy. A natural rhythm was quickly created between them, a fiery one, perfectly reflecting what would be their relationship, because a calm sea wouldn't work well with them. They were two captains for one boat, of course it wouldn't go smoothly and yet, yet they liked the idea. They didn't want to have a dull life. They wanted passion, quarrels and, later, love. This was how it'd work between them.

They broke apart only when air started to lack.

"I promise," Draco murmured, panting, "next time, you'll jump with me."

Her eyes widened, as if she was outraged by his words, but the smile stretching her lips told him another story. She wasn't shocked but pleased by what he'd declared.

Next time he'd jump – next time he'd take an important decision, a huge risk – he wanted her to be by his side. He wanted her to be part of his life, perhaps she'd even lead his actions, determine his choice. She was flattered, and moved.

"But you'll have to cover my eyes," she lowly whispered – her voice, that traitor!, was failing her. "You know I'm afraid of heights."

Acting quickly and with precision, Draco fell back on the ground, Hermione, prisoner of his arms, followed him with a surprised shriek. She'd been moved to tears by his words and all he thought to do was to lay on the ground, her on top of him, his hands firmly set on her bottom – she wasn't about to move them away though – while hers were on the ground framing his head.

He'd trapped her in his embrace, it was her turn to have him trapped by her body. However, it didn't mean he was her prey, indeed she felt as if _she_ was _his_ prey, even on top of him, because he had the control over the most important part of her, he was the master of her heart.

He started to gently caress her bottom. Hermione didn't even try to muffle her moans, that would be in vain.

Many people, if they were to witness the scene taking place near the edge of that cliff, on that very day, would think they had been victims of hallucinations. Hermione Granger couldn't possibly be laying on top of Draco Malfoy – with his hands massaging her bottom – and enjoying it! That couldn't be! And if it was really happening, then magic could be the only plausible cause of such a behaviour!

Many would think that way, and many would be wrong.

There was nothing due to magic in their exchange, nothing but the magic of their feelings.

A magic, a desire, a passion they didn't want to restrain any more.

It was time they took a risk, the risk. They would both bet their heart, offer it to suffering, in order to live fully.

They didn't want to be bothered by regrets. They _wouldn't_ be bothered by regrets.

Draco let his hands slide to Hermione's back, he embraced her and suddenly shifted their positions. He didn't mind her being on top, as long as he could, too, lead the dance.

"Are you sure Granger?"

"Are you doubting Malfoy?" she smirked then imitated his previous actions by grabbing his bottom. "Do you need a proof of my being sure?"

She licked her lips. Purposely or not, Draco didn't know, didn't care. All that mattered was the want growing up inside him, the desire clouding his eyes – and the one he could see in hers.

Their lips met in an explosion of passion. Worry, risk, pain, everything was forgotten.

They knew where such a behaviour would lead them, and were both eager to take that path together.

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, from now on, would make sure to always jump together.

**The End**


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